


Second Hand Illusions

by whitesheets



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/F, Family, Female-Centric, Femslash, Older Woman/Younger Woman, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-12
Updated: 2015-11-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 23:24:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,796
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4324812
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whitesheets/pseuds/whitesheets
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Andy thinks they're definitely dating or together. Sort of.</p><p>Follows <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/3813319">Midnight Clandestine Stories</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Figured it would be fun to see how our favourite ladies navigate their way through a relationship, throwing in a few pesky real-life issues like work and all that jazz. I suppose it could work as a standalone, but would make much more sense if you've read [this](http://archiveofourown.org/works/3813319) first.
> 
> No beta, so please excuse any mistakes. Hope you will enjoy anyway!

At 11.17PM, Andy Sachs was late.

Thus, Andy Sachs ran.

It wasn’t as though Miranda would mind, but because it  _was_ Miranda Priestly, Andy couldn’t know for sure. She had long figured out that what came out of the editor’s mouth often times, did not reflect her exact thoughts or feelings (it was surreal to think that Miranda had very real, very  _human_  feelings which involved one reporter, low on the journalism food chain), so “It’s all right, Andrea” could very well mean the opposite.

Andy had arranged their ‘date’ – was it one? – for 11PM, simply because she knew Caroline and Cassidy would already be asleep, and was irritated at herself that she could actually be late for something so late in the night.

In fact, if she thought about the past few times they’d met up, essentially Andy sneaking into the townhouse in the dead of the night, she had been late for more times than she had been early.

It sucked because she’d set out to  _not_  screw this up at the beginning and clearly, by being late so frequently, she was on the path to doing that. What she didn’t expect at the beginning though, was that their schedules would conflict so frequently and violently – if Miranda was out of town on short notice, Andy had a day off; if the girls were away, Andy was off covering an event. They’d only started seeing each other slightly less than three months ago (ten weeks, because Andy sure as hell was counting), and those times they actually  _saw_ each other face to face were sporadic at best.

The moment she saw the whitewashed door looming up ahead, her finger hit the speed-dial.

As usual, Miranda picked up after the first ring.

“ _Andrea._ ”

Her stomach quivered deliciously. She’d had ten whole weeks of “ _Andrea_ ”, apparently a synonym for “You’re mine” and something Andy could never make out.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m late, but I’m outside now,” Andy said, trying hard to not pant into the speaker.

Obviously failing, since Miranda snorted and said: “ _It’s dangerous to run in the rain. Honestly.”_

Andy smirked, tingling from head to toe in the knowledge that she was cared for. There was a rustle in the background, and then a soft click, indicating that Miranda was moving about.

“It stopped a while ago,” she said, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet to keep warm, now that her heart rate was beginning to slow. “Couldn’t wait to see my favourite girl.”

“ _Your favourite girl brought me a lizard today, decapitated in all its glory.”_

 “Aww, Randy’s so sweet.”

“ _She now sleeps in Caroline’s room. I hope you’re not disappointed if you came to see her.”_

“I am, but I miss the original much more.”

“ _Mm_ ,” Miranda said, which practically meant  _‘me too’_. One day, Andy thought. One fine day, Miranda would say “I miss you too” and Andy could then die happy.

The door cracked open a second later, and Andy slid in like the pro that she already was.

“Hey.”

“Andrea,” Miranda said, pressing a warm hand on a frozen cheek and pushed herself up on her toes to meet Andy’s lips, tasting sweet and minty all at once.

She would never be able to figure out just how Miranda could say her name and have it mean so many different things all at once. She changed her mind – if she died now, she would be just as happy.

“Sorry I’m late,” Andy whispered again, as they climbed the stairs, trying to be as quiet as possible. She’d taken off her shoes and left them with her coat but even then, it was impossible to move as silently as the woman ahead.

“It’s fine,” Miranda said once they reached the bedroom, as Andy knew she would. “I was still working.”

And so she was. The Book sat, wide open on the nightstand, and there was a bowl of some exotic bright purple fruit Andy never knew the name to. As much as Miranda never snacked at work, the woman ate all the time at home – or at least, in her bedroom.

“Do you still need to?” she asked, dropping her satchel unceremoniously by the door.

Miranda went straight to The Book and sighed. “Unfortunately.”

“That’s okay,” Andy said, pulling out her laptop from the discarded bag, and climbed onto the bed. “I can just get a head start on my article then.”

“You should have told me that you were on the way, nonetheless. I could have sent Roy to pick you up,” Miranda said, already scribbling on a bright yellow Post-It as Andy snuggled in beside her.

“You’re really sweet, you know that?”

Miranda wrinkled her nose at the sentiment.

“And you’re ridiculous. We should revise our schedules – I don’t like the idea of you traipsing around in the middle of the night, especially when you come in half-frozen and on the verge of pneumonia,” she huffed, lips pressed into a pout as she studied the layout in front of her intently.

Andy bit her lip to suppress a snort. She  _did not_ come in half-frozen.

“It’s okay. It means my editor trusts me. When I make senior writer soon enough, I’ll have more control over my schedule,” Andy said, pressing a kiss to the older woman’s cheek.  _When_  Andy she knew for a certainty that Miranda wouldn’t end them just because her children didn’t approve, she didn’t say – and it was beyond common knowledge that Miranda’s children always came first. And very frankly, trying to sneak in undetected earlier on in the evening was practically rolling out the red carpet for the twins to walk in on them. They were like a pair of wolves, with an insane ability to sniff out the fear in their mother’s hapless assistants and potential mates.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “If you say so,” she muttered, clearly still displeased.

“Good things come to those who wait,” Andy said, closing the lid of her laptop without having even started it up in the first place, the sort of thing only a certain fashion editor could make her do.

“Is that so?” Miranda said, unflinching.

“Yep,” she said, reaching over to run a hand over a silk-clad stomach.

“I need to finish this.”

“I didn’t say you couldn’t,” Andy said, brushing the underside of very, very appealing breasts.

“What happened to your article?”

“It can wait. No deadline for tomorrow morning.” She slipped her hand upwards and cupped a small breast, knowing exactly how to distract the unflappable woman.

“Andrea,” Miranda said, and this time, Andy knew it was a plea to be kissed.

Miranda rose before her the next morning, for the first time since Andy started spending nights at the townhouse.

Andy was used to dragging herself out of bed early, just so she could sneak out of the townhouse before the girls woke up and Miranda always looked so peaceful asleep that she could never bring herself to wake the other woman up.

So when she vaguely felt the bed dip beside her, and smelt the unmistakable aroma of freshly brewed coffee, her brain jolted awake due to the sheer abnormality of the situation and she blinked into the dimly lit bedroom with a start.

“What – what time is it?” she asked, turning onto her side towards the light.

“Early,” Miranda said, sipping from her mug, glasses perched on the edge of her nose as she studied The Book.

“Mm, you look good,” Andy mumbled, listening to the brisk strokes of pen on paper and the soft tune of a piano piece Miranda liked to work to – probably Debussy, quiet, hopeful and oddly melancholy. It wasn’t Andy’s cup of tea, but she thought it was fitting – the editor always seemed to carry an inexplicable air of sorrow with her, like a tragic Russian literary heroine, minus the suicidal tendencies.

Miranda smirked, even if her eyes never left her work. “I’m sure,” she said, and licked her lips. Her voice was husky, enveloping Andy in a warm cocoon of bliss.

God, she could spend all day watching Miranda work, the quirk of her lips, the sharp little tongue darting out to wet her lips or to lick her finger before turning a page. If she didn’t have to make sure she got out before the girls woke up, she’d willingly –

“Shit!” Yanking the sheets with her as she sat up, she reached over and grabbed her phone, frowning when she realised that there was no missed alarm on her screen.

“You didn’t forget,” Miranda said, reading Andy’s thoughts. “I switched it off.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean for it to wake you,” Andy said, apologetically.

“It doesn’t matter. I needed to finish some work, since someone was so intent on distracting me last night,” Miranda said, a small curve tugging on the corners of her lips.

“Ah, right. Um.”

“You mentioned that you had no deadlines so I didn’t see any harm in letting you sleep in. Was I mistaken?” Miranda asked, carefully, turning to look at Andy for the first time this morning.

Too carefully, that it made Andy’s belly flip uncertainly.

“No, of course not,” Andy said, suddenly feeling like she had lost her footing in one quick motion.

“Good,” Miranda said, as if the matter was done and dismissed.

Right.

Grateful that whatever it was had passed, Andy leaned over and kissed a perfect earlobe, breathing in the warm scent there. As much as she liked Chanel, she liked  _Miranda_  much better.

“I wish I could stay,” Andy said, watching Miranda circle and cross out items on the mock-up.

“Did you need to be somewhere so early this morning?” Miranda didn’t look away from The Book, but Andy could sense the growing stiffness in her posture all the same.

“Caroline and Cassidy would be up soon,” Andy offered, apologetically.

“Yes, of course,” Miranda said, like she had forgotten that fact.

“I’ll see you later tonight?”

“Probably. I will let you know.”

“Okay,” Andy said, and slid out of bed. She still felt off-balanced, never having regained the footing she’d lost moments ago, even if Miranda was being usually casual and well, herself. It didn’t take long for her to dress and she hovered uncomfortably at the foot of the bed once she was done.

“Uh, I should probably go now,” Andy said, grimacing when she heard how idiotic she sounded. She’d made it sound like the awkward morning after of a regrettable one-night stand.

It was easier to say things she actually meant and felt aloud, kneeling on a plush carpet, when Miranda was asleep. Not that she normally said much (it was usually just a whispered “Sleep well”), but still.

Andy had always been the one to leave in the mornings, though she always made up for it with a note, or a text message right after she left. It hadn’t occurred to her, however, that Miranda might have been bothered by it at all. The older woman certainly never indicated as much – which was typical, if Andy thought about it.

Bracing herself, she made her way to Miranda’s side anyway, and almost sighed in relief when Miranda kissed her back.

Okay. So Andy could have been overthinking it, and Miranda could have just as well been displeased by an ugly skirt. She had fired people for that before, so Andy figured it wasn’t too farfetched.

“I hope I’ll see you tonight,” Andy said.

“Likewise,” Miranda said, blue eyes soft, with a rare unconcealed affection that reassured Andy all was well.

Until her phone rang with the first call of the day from her editor after she’d wolfed down her burrito breakfast, and it suddenly occurred to her that Miranda must have had always heard her alarm – must have had always been awake each time Andy snuck out, or at least semi-aware of it. And on their  _first_ morning actually together…

The sense of lost footing, the same uncertainness in her belly, returned.

It made Andy inexplicably sad for the rest of the afternoon, feeling like she had ruined something precious with her ineloquence and general idiocy.

Miranda didn’t contact Andy until after seven, and even then, her message was brief.

_Working late at the office. Perhaps tomorrow._

_\- M_

There was no apology but Andy wasn’t expecting one. Her glum mood persisted, and she decided to stay late to finish off another short article before leaving for the day. It wasn’t as if she had any plans for the night either. The sadness she’d be harbouring grew into confusion, and then frustration by the time her takeout Chinese delivery arrived at her desk. And the fact that she couldn’t explain  _why_ was really beginning to piss her off.

Miranda wasn’t even mad at her.

Refusing to stop being a good lover (since ‘girlfriend’ was likely too plebeian for a Priestly), Andy decided on a phone call right after stepping out of  _The Mirror_. Maybe listening to Miranda’s voice would make her feel better and expunge this weird uneasiness from her system once and for all.

And she was right. The way her name sounded when Miranda greeted her, made her feel a million times better in an instant, warding away the chill of fall.

“Still at the office?” Andy asked, briefly toying with the idea of making a surprise appearance at  _Runway_  if Miranda was still there.

“ _Not anymore. Remind me again why I shouldn’t fire the entire Art Department?”_

Unable to fight the tug at the corner of her lips, Andy allowed herself to grin. “Because print deadline is next Thursday and HR has implemented a limit on how many people you can hire this month in an attempt to reduce turnover rates.”

An irritable sigh came loud and clear across the line.  _“Idiots everywhere.”_

“I know. Miranda Priestly against the world,” Andy teased, jubilant at the return of their easy banter, comforting and safe. She’d been feeling like shit over nothing at all. “Lucky you though. I’m on your side.”

 _“That’s comforting to know,”_ Miranda said, in a way that implied she didn’t feel any comfort at all.  _“Where are you?”_

“Uh, on my way home. I just left work.”

 _“Are you – walking at this time of the night?”_ Miranda sounded aghast.

“Miranda, a lot of people  _walk_  in New York City. It’s a pedestrian-friendly city. And it isn’t that cold tonight.” They’d been through this routine countless times, but Miranda’s fussing was really the only ever verbal indicator of fondness so Andy was determined to live with it.

“ _And a crime-friendly city.”_

“We have a below average crime-rate!” The wail of an ambulance siren pierced through the night, echoing down the street, not helping Andy’s case at all.

“ _Take a cab.”_

“Miranda.”

The woman in question huffed. “ _To the townhouse, I meant.”_

Andy’s heart leapt.

“I’m on the way,” she said, immediately sticking her hand out to flag down a ride.

“ _How efficient,”_  Miranda remarked, and Andy heard smirk in her voice.

Insufferable, pain in the ass. But hers. Miranda was exquisitely, beautifully hers.

“Oh, I am,” Andy said, as suggestively as she could. “You know it.”

“ _Well,_ ” Miranda said, clearing her throat.

It was Andy’s turn to smirk. The woman was almost too easy. “I’ll call you when I get there.”

 _“Yes, hurry along,”_ was all Miranda said before she promptly hung up.

All in all, Andy figured that her temporary episode in the afternoon had been the result of an overactive imagination and sleep deprivation. Especially when she didn’t even need to call before the door to the townhouse swung open. That Miranda had been  _waiting_ for Andy was a significant boost of confidence and as far as she was concerned, the other woman was practically a purring cat after how well Andy had delivered.

“Efficient, aren’t I?” Andy said, feeling smug and accomplished.

 “Very,” Miranda allowed, hazily, already drifting off to sleep with an arm thrown across Andy’s stomach, skin still flushed and glowing.

Andy felt a flash of guilt, and pressed a kiss to the silver head buried in the crook of her neck. Miranda had to be exhausted, if she’d been up and working since the crack of dawn.

“Sleep well,” she whispered – it was what she always said, having not yet worked up the courage to say everything else she wanted to say – and hoped Miranda did.

Her alarm rang at the same time the next morning, though at a lower volume than before (she’d learnt her lesson), and in the midst of trying not to miss a button in the dimness, Andy realised that she was being watched intently.

“Hey,” she said, forgetting her shirt temporarily and climbing back onto the bed. “It’s still early.”

“Indeed,” Miranda said, leaning over to flick on the lamp on the nightstand.

Even though the sheets were tucked under her arms, Andy couldn’t help but notice the smooth expanse of skin above it. And that hair, irresistibly untucked from its prim place behind perfect ears. This was what the woman had reduced her to – a semi-coherent journalist with the sex drive of a sixteen year old boy. But when she looked up, Miranda was still watching her quietly, and her fantasies vanished into thin air.

“Go back to bed,” Andy said, suddenly nervous.

In return, Miranda opened her mouth, and so very casually said: “I would feel much better, if you slipped away into the night in a cab.”

For some insane reason, Andy flushed, feeling the heat rush up her chest and reach the top of her head in milliseconds. This had to be it – the reason why she’d been feeling so out of sorts yesterday. Her subconscious had been trying to warn her of this.

“I wasn’t slipping away into the night,” Andy said, defensively and immediately realised that she  _was_ doing exactly what she said she wasn’t.

Goddamn it.

But there was no choice, was there? Discretion had been natural earlier on – Andy coming in late at night and leaving early in the morning. It had even been the exact way they came together, Andy turning up on Miranda’s steps in the dead of the night and leaving before the crack of dawn. It didn’t make sense for Miranda to be upset about it now.

“Of course,” Miranda- _I’m-Not-Upset_ -Priestly said, the way she had the night before, still frustratingly unreadable.

Andy wanted to dig further – obviously, one of them had to communicate properly for the both of them. But before the words could come, she chickened out pathetically, worrying that she might push Miranda away. God knows, the great Editor-in-Chief of the greatest fashion magazine in human history spooked as easily as a newborn fawn.

“I’ll call a cab,” Andy relented, trying to be as accommodating as possible.

“Yes, do that,” Miranda said, firmly, like the whole thing had been about Andy taking a damn cab.

“And I’ll wake you up to let you know I’m leaving next time,” Andy continued, hoping that she’d hit the mark and defuse whatever it was that had been snowballing since yesterday morning.

She trampled the urge to whoop victoriously as the muscles in Miranda’s glorious shoulders relaxed slightly. Grabbing onto the chance offered, Andy curled up on the sheets, resting her head on Miranda’s lap and moments later, she felt nimble fingers combing through her hair, pads of fingers trailing along her scalp. She opened her eyes after a few moments and gazed up.

“You are wrinkling your shirt,” Miranda chastised, even if her fingers still played with Andy’s hair. The inflection of her voice was no longer maddeningly nonchalant. Thank God. Nothing serious, she told herself.

Andy sighed happily. “You look like an angel from down here.”

“Really, Andrea. Sometimes I wonder what makes you say the most ridiculous things,” Miranda said, though she did not sound displeased at all.

“Not ridiculous if it’s true,” Andy said, beaming.

Miranda rolled her eyes. “You should call that cab soon.”

“Yeah, I should. I’ll wait up here for it,” Andy said, reluctantly and pushed herself up and off the bed, instantly regretting the loss of the soothing touch.

After a quick call to secure herself adequate transportation by her lover’s standards, she finished dressing as Miranda watched from the bed, studying Andy’s motions as if she was something fascinating.

It still blew her mind that a woman so used to scrutinizing beauty on a daily basis could ever direct such a look at her, and it made her feel like Ava Gardner. Or something. Once she was done, she automatically gravitated towards the comfort of Miranda’s lap again.

“Do you have plans for the weekend?” Miranda asked, fingers returning to stroke blissful circles on Andy’s scalp. “The girls will be leaving for their father’s tomorrow afternoon after school.”

Andy immediately moved to shake her head, but with a stab of disappointment, remembered that she had the weekend shift. She could probably get someone to trade with her, but she was already working on a few stories that were due. Just a few more months and she’d soon be up for a promotion  _and_ a raise – another step higher, closer to Miranda’s pedestal.

“It’s my shift this weekend.”

“Will you need to be in the office?”

Miranda had never asked  _that_ before.

Andy opened her eyes and caught a flicker of uncertainty cross the usually assured, aristocratic face. Miranda wanted to spend a weekend with her. Only people who dated, or were together, had things like weekends, right?

“You could come over,” she blurted, forgetting that she lived in a place that was cheaper than a pair of Miranda’s shoes.

“Oh?” Now, Miranda looked curious and a little … hopeful.

It gave Andy a small seed of encouragement to press on.

“To my apartment.”

“Your apartment.”

Andy tried to think of the last time she cleaned – right before the last time Nate had visited, and the one and only time Miranda had ever seen the pathetic insides of her rat hole. And Miranda hadn’t even stepped foot inside  _then_.

“It’s quite messy for now but, uh, I have all my work there, and most of my research. So I can work and well, you know, be with you,” she said. “You could come after dinner. Maybe. If you don’t mind staying the night.”

At that, Miranda pursed her lips, and Andy knew it was an effort to hide a smile. She still wished Miranda didn’t constantly feel such a need to hide herself, nevertheless. Almost three months should be sufficient for someone you were dating to feel comfortable enough to smile freely in your presence and it made Andy wonder about a lot of things.

Though, if Andy was forced to admit, they’d barely spent any time together at all, outside of their late night meetings and that almost always meant one thing. Otherwise, most of their communication came in the form of text messages or phone calls – exactly the way their friendship had developed prior.

With a startling clarity, Andy was beginning to realise that not much had changed, aside from the addition of great sex into her life.

“I have good coffee,” she said, even if she wasn’t sure if that was true, because she was suddenly desperate to have Miranda over, to change things.

“If that is the case, I would not be – adverse to that idea,” Miranda said, slowly, warm palm coming to rest against Andy’s scalp.

“Cool,” Andy said, grinning widely.

She studied the line of a defined jaw, which appeared to be even more pronounced from her position, unable to stop staring at the visage hovering above her. Responding to the scrutiny, Miranda tilted her head, clear eyes roving across Andy’s face in return.

The courage that had failed her so many times in the past returned.

Heart thumping in her rib cage, a million things hovered on the tip of Andy’s tongue at that very moment, a second filled with promise that anything could be.

It shattered the moment her phone rang, and whatever hope and courage she felt fled.

Of-fucking-course.

“That should be my ride,” she said, wincing.

“Yes,” Miranda said, and removed her hand, allowing Andy to sit up and pick up the phone.

Her cabbie was already waiting outside, probably expecting a generous tip from such a wealthy address to have turned up in just five minutes. She ended the call and got up from the bed, straightening her clothes and fixing up her hair into a ponytail.

“How do I look?”

“Wrinkled,” Miranda sniffed.

“Maybe I should get those wrinkle-free shirts I see in GAP all the time,” Andy said, stuffing her laptop into her bag and slinging it over her shoulder.

“Absolutely  _not_ ,” the consummate fashion editor declared, slipping out of bed with a mighty scowl.

Andy groaned. “I need to go.”

“Well, go,” Miranda said, eyes sparkling with mirth, naked as the day she was born.

“Just you wait,” Andy muttered, stalked right over to where the shorter woman was standing and pulled that arrogant face to hers in one quick motion.

The undignified squeak and then barely audible whimper that came from the other woman made her own knees weak.

“Andrea,” Miranda sighed when they pulled apart, and Andy smirked at the stiff peaks of arousal greeting her.

But the cab was waiting, and goddammit, she needed to change her underwear.

“I’ll call you,” Andy promised.

“Don’t trip on your way out,” Miranda said, sweetly.

“Hah, I won’t and just you  _wait_ ,” Andy retorted, repeating her earlier threat, light-headed that there was only one day before the weekend.

 _Their weekend._ They were definitely dating or together. Sort of.

Unsurprisingly, because Miranda could also add fortune-telling to her list of talents, Andy tripped over her own feet on the pavement, in her rush to get to the cab.

Her phone beeped with an incoming message the moment the car started moving.

_As you would expect, nobody ever listens to me._

_-M_

God, what a pain in the ass.

But her heart did what it wanted, and fluttered anyway.

By the time dinner came around and Andy stepped foot into her apartment, she was already floating mid-air. The mess was mostly from her work anyway, and she didn’t think Miranda would fuss over that. Her sheets were always clean after all and that was what mattered.

She did a little jig when her phone rang.

“I was just about to call you!” she said, immediately.

“ _You were?”_ her mother’s voice asked, killing Andy’s buzz in two sharp syllables.

“Oh, Mom. I thought you were someone else. Sorry,” Andy said, trying hard not to sound disappointed.

“ _I thought so_.  _Anyway, Andy, you wouldn’t be able to guess where your father and I are.”_

Oh, no.

Oh, God, fucking no.

“No, Mom, I wouldn’t. Where are you guys?” Andy asked, already pressing her face into her palm and holding her breath.

_“Just down the street!”_

“What?!” Andy cried, leaping up from the couch and staring around her room in abject horror. While she didn’t think Miranda would fuss too much, her mother held no such restraint. “Why?”

“ _Andy dear, could you at least pretend to be excited about your parents coming all the way to surprise you?”_

“Of course, Mom,” Andy said, chastised. “Sorry… it’s just –”  _My weekend with Miranda_. Shit. “It’s just that I’m working and the whole place is a mess.”

“ _Typical. I certainly hope you’ve been doing your laundry.”_

“I have. Um, where are you staying?”

_“We know things didn’t work out with Nate so we thought, perhaps, it would be nice to have a weekend together. Your sister said that you would be around. I’ll make your favourite pancakes and it’ll be fun!”_

“Mom, Nate was a long time ago,” Andy said, uncomfortable at the mention of her ex. “And I don’t think –”

“ _Oh, I think we’re here. We will see you in a bit!”_

“Mom –” Andy started, but the line had already been cut.

Shit.

Leaping into action, she picked up an old coffee mug and an empty pizza box at the same time, shoving the box into the trash, and leaving the mug in her sink which held only, thankfully, one plate.

Then remembering that Miranda could already be on the way, she immediately raced to the living room for her phone, praying for once that a meeting had overrun, or for some poor soul’s incompetence to save her.

“ _I shall be leaving Runway soon, Andrea,”_ Miranda said, the moment she picked up. “ _I’ve not yet eaten, but I’ve sent Roy to pick something up. Do you have a particular preference?”_

“Um,” Andy said, biting her lip, desperately trying to tidy up the papers spread out all over her table. “I’m really sorry, Miranda, but I don’t think tonight is possible. I’m not sure how long – actually –“

An impatient series of raps on her door cut Andy’s explanation short.

“ _I see_.”

“I’ll call you back,” Andy promised. She would. “I’m really sorry!”

“ _Yes, well. Enjoy your company, Andrea. Goodnight_ ,” Miranda said, surprisingly pleasant, and ended the call.

Her stomach clenched. She would deal with it later, she would make up for it. If she could convince her parents to spend the weekend at a hotel, she could probably drop by the townhouse tonight or something. She just needed to – well, she needed to let her parents in.

God.

Taking a deep, fortifying breath, Andy pulled the door open.

“Hi, Mom and Dad!” she chirped, hoping against hope that she sounded convincing.

“How’s my girl?” her father asked, the way he always asked whenever she went home for Christmas.

“Working hard,” Andy said, when her father gave her a long, tight hug. It did make her feel a little bit better. “You really didn’t need to come all the way,” Andy added, weakly, stepping aside so her he could bring their bags in.

“Nonsense.” Her mother flapped a hand, swatting away all protest, and leaned in to kiss Andy’s cheeks. “It’s your birthday weekend and it has been way too long since we celebrated it together!”

“Oh.”

 _Oh_.

“Andy, dear God, it looks like a copy machine blew up in here.”

Andy laughed nervously, fingers tightening around the cellphone still in her grasp. Her mother was already at work, organising her papers on the coffee table. They would be fine on their own for ten minutes, she decided.

“Hey guys, I need to make an important phone call,” she announced, pulling on a coat.

“Right now?”

“Yeah, sorry. It won’t take long. Dad, there’s beer in the fridge. Knock your socks off!” Andy said, already halfway through the door.

She flew down the stairs, already having hit the speed-dial on the last flight down and shivered when the cold air hit her hard.  _Pick up, please. Please._ It rang once, twice, and by the third ring, worry was already bouncing around her insides in full force. Her belly flipped on the fourth ring, and plummeted straight down when, for the first time in ten weeks, Andy’s call went to Miranda's voicemail.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Firstly, I am _so_ very sorry for taking this long to get this up and you cannot imagine how happy I am about it! All I can say is _#agencylife_ and what Nigel said about your entire life going up in smoke. I could barely find any time to write, and when I did, they were in spurts of a few hundred words. However, it has settled down a bit, and I spent much of today editing it into something a bit more coherent.
> 
> No beta, so I am sorry for any mistakes I've missed and if it doesn't flow well. I tried my best! Hope all of you enjoy this installment!

It rained that night, lashing and furious, against her rattling window after she’d given up and returned to her apartment with a heavy sense of defeat.

“Honey, did something happen at work?” her mother had asked, completely oblivious to her daughter’s real source of agony and new sexual orientation.

Andy had clenched a fist and forced a smile. “Yes,” she lied. “Just some work stuff. I’m – uh – actually working this weekend, but I can do it from here though. Well, most of it.”

Her mother nodded, sympathetically. “Good. I’ve gotten dinner going. You’re getting much too skinny for my liking.”

 _Smart, fat girl_.

She’d been terrified of Miranda  _then_ , hating the constant disappointment which resonated so loudly for a voice so quiet. The text message that Andy had sent right before giving up and heading back inside had been a last resort and she’d hoped selfishly against all odds that Miranda hadn’t picked up any of her calls because somebody forgot the skirts, or messed up a spread.

_My parents came by unannounced. I’m sorry. Please call me back when you can._

_-A_

Dinner came and went, and Miranda didn’t call or acknowledge receipt of Andy’s message. Appetite abandoning her, it took a lot of effort to force down the two helpings of pasta heaped onto her plate just so she wouldn’t be nagged about not eating enough. It was really hard to pretend-laugh when the thought that  _they_ could very well be over before Andy had even the chance to start worrying about telling her parents hung over her head with an oppressing gloom.

By the time the credits of  _The Shawshank Redemption_ rolled, Andy was already half-asleep on the couch, still clutching her cellphone.

The next thing she knew, her hand was vibrating and tangled in her ratty grey blanket, Andy struggled awake, squinting hard at the brightly lit display.

She picked up immediately.

“Miranda?” she said, and then realising that she had both parents snoring only a few feet away, lowered her voice to a whisper. “Miranda?”

“ _Andrea_.”

Suddenly fully awake, Andy kicked off the blanket and winced at the throb in her neck as she got up.

“I tried to call,” Andy whispered, pausing to switch the TV off before making her way to the bedroom for a semblance of privacy. She didn’t have the thickest walls, which was the reason why she’d gone outside earlier, but her parents weren’t the lightest sleepers in the world either so she figured she was safe.

 _“Yes, I saw. Why are you whispering?”_  Even though Miranda’s words were no less demanding than usual, they weren’t exactly warm and affectionate either.

“Um, did you see my text?”

“ _Yes. I have only just found the time to return your call_ ,” Miranda said, tiredly.

Andy glanced at the digital clock on her side-table. “Oh my god, I didn’t realise it was already past midnight.”

“ _Is this a bad time?”_

She’d only written half an article that was due the next morning before lunch.

“No,” Andy said anyway, feeling all sorts of weird that Miranda worried about a ‘bad time’. There was no such thing as a ‘bad time’ for Miranda Priestly. Time was bent and hammered into shape to fit Miranda’s schedule. “I just – my Dad wanted to watch a movie and I fell asleep halfway through. But now is good. I can talk now.”

“ _I meant to call earlier,_ ” Miranda admitted, and then sighed in frustration. “ _But something came up, and I had to stay in the office later than I had planned._ ”

Andy let out a steady breath. “Okay. I thought you were upset at me.”

“ _Well,_ ” Miranda said, and Andy noticed that she had not denied anything. “ _It is pointless to be upset at something that is beyond your control, Andrea._ ”

The snort escaped before Andy could stop it.

“That should be a quote of the day or something,” Andy said. She (and countless other  _Runway_ staff, she would bet) could count every single moment that Miranda had indeed been upset over, moments that had definitely been beyond Andy’s control.

“ _Andrea._ ”

“I know, I know,” Andy allowed, rubbing a hand over her face. Miranda  _was_ trying, and she really should pick another time to be a smart ass. “I’m really glad you called. Did you just get home?”

“ _A little while ago. Will I see you this weekend?”_

“Maybe. I don’t know. My Mom and Dad seem pretty keen on staying here with me. I’m really sorry about it and – um.” Andy bit her lip. “Did you already know it’s my birthday this weekend? Was that why …?”

Miranda hummed non-committedly, but it made Andy grin so hard her cheek muscles hurt.

“How’d you know it’s my birthday?” Andy asked, feeling like the tree at Rockefeller’s during Christmas.

Andy could picture the other woman rolling her eyes, as she said: “ _You were my employee, Andrea. I seem to remember a tacky cupcake once, and that balloon you were trying to hide under your desk.”_

“That was mind-blowing. You didn’t say a single thing about the cupcake – I thought Emily was going to faint from the shock. But you remember my birthday,” Andy said, sounding more breathless than she’d expected to.

“ _I remember everything,”_ came Miranda’s smart-ass reply.

“Oh, yeah? When’s Emily’s birthday?”

“ _Is this the Spanish inquisition?”_ Miranda retorted, which meant she had no idea.

Andy buzzed with the warmth that coursed through her body. “I don’t care what you say, or what anyone says about you, but you are  _so_  sweet.”

Miranda cleared her throat.

“ _Do you know how long your parents are intending to stay?_ ” she asked, clearly changing the subject and totally sounding like she was asking Nigel for proofs of a shoot.

It was as if the older woman was trying  _not_ to sound like she had anything against Andy’s parents being in town. Which was really… quite thoughtful and kind of cute?

“Until Sunday,” she supplied, helpfully but didn’t want to dwell on her parents and Miranda in the same train of thought. “Maybe I can see you Sunday evening?” It would probably end up more night than evening, but Andy didn’t mind. And she really couldn’t stop smiling.

“ _That is acceptable. I will see you then, Andrea.”_

“Yeah, that’ll be great. I can’t wait. And um, don’t work too late?”

It was Saturday tomorrow, but the days of the week never held much significance to Miranda.

If something had kept the editor at work until almost midnight, Andy knew from experience that it was something that would keep her up way past midnight once she got home. The first time she’d experienced Miranda pulling a spread at the very last minute, she’d also experienced waking up to an inbox of emails from two in the morning, all the way until five. Now that she thought about it, Miranda had been quite considerate – she could have very well demanded that Andy stayed up with her.

“ _I will most certainly try. Goodnight._ ”

“Goodnight,” Andy returned, and waited until Miranda ended the call before putting down her phone.

It took a few minutes to wash her face and brush her teeth, before Andy ventured into the living room again to look for the bulk of her research and laptop. Might as well finish up now so she didn’t have to worry about getting up early tomorrow to meet her deadline.

A few minutes in, after having earnestly made some attempts to work with her notes spread out all over the bed, Andy gave up and shoved everything into her bag. Scribbling a quick note for her parents about heading out to a café to work, she called for a cab and waited until she saw the yellow car pull up by the sidewalk through her window.

Though, instead of the street where a 24/7 café she liked sat on, she heard herself giving the cabbie the townhouse’s address out of habit – and decided to just go along with what her brain had already chosen for her. Andy had spent more money on cab fare in the past few weeks than she had in the past few years of her life but she found that she really didn’t care, not when it meant she got to see Miranda sooner after a long day.

_I hope you’re still awake._

_-A_

Miranda’s response came just as Andy stepped out of the warmth of the cab and into the freezing post-rain night air.

_Silly girl._

She didn’t even bother to sign off her message.

The door to the townhouse opened about the same time Andy reached the final stair and she swooned at the romance of such impeccable timing.

And at how unfairly good Miranda looked at one in the morning. Whoever it was who had proclaimed that everyone was born equal clearly had not spent much time around creatures like Miranda Priestly.

“Hi,” she said, and kissed Miranda hard, pushing them both into the shadows of the unlit foyer.

Miranda moaned and Andy felt a twinge in her groin, pushing the front door shut and pressing the smaller woman up against it at the same time.

“Where are your parents –” Miranda started when they pulled apart, and then broke off when Andy flicked her tongue over the skin below her jaw.

“Sleeping,” Andy said, and nipped an earlobe. “They’re sleeping. Left a note to tell them I was heading out to get some work done.” She slipped a hand under the flimsy fabric of the other woman’s robe. “You smell really good.”

“And – ah – do you really have work to do?”

“Yes.”

It was funny how they  _always_ asked about work when they saw each other, because there was  _always_ work. Though, work usually ceased to matter once Andy had her hands full of expensive silk and soft skin.

Miranda started to slip out of her grasp, but a primal desperation made Andy pin lean arms against the door and capture already swollen lips with her own. She hadn’t even realised how relieved she truly was that they were still all right, until Miranda opened the door and her heart fluttered alive. Somewhere in the recesses of her mind, Andy knew she was attempting to get back at the other woman for making her worry the entire night with punishing, bruising kisses – a lousy sort of punishment when she thought about how much the recipient was enjoying it.

“Oh,” Miranda whimpered, when Andy managed to pushed aside her robe and nightdress to reach between her thighs.

“I think it’s amazing how wet you get,” she marvelled, pressing firmly against the damp silk and then blatantly shoving it aside to stroke slick folds.

“Do you have –” the older woman said, and then sucked in a sharp breath when Andy slipped two fingers inside her. “Do you have some sort of fantasy about taking me against the door?”.

“Is that what I’m doing? Taking you against the door?” Andy teased, angling her wrist so that she could press deeper to reach a spot which drove Miranda crazy.

“ _Yes!_ ”

Andy didn’t bother to hide her grin, shivering when she felt even more moisture coat her fingers and palm. God, it was fucking amazing how Miranda reacted to her touch, how burning hot it all was and how nobody else got to see  _this_  but friggin’ Andy Sachs.

“I’m so glad I’m here.”

The smile which lit up Miranda’s face was the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen. Andy wanted to encourage it so she could keep some of it safe in her pocket, or maybe even make it last forever. So, she said: “You are my favouritest birthday present ever,” not caring about offending the giant grammar Nazi she was busy trying to ravish.

The sound she heard in return, a rosy, tinkling, happy sort of sound, made her chest expand with a bubble of joy, growing until she was practically airborne.

“Am I?” Miranda said, coyly, face flushed, eyes gleaming.

So ridiculously beautiful, Andy lost her breath. She could count on one hand, how many times Miranda had ever laughed in her presence and it was magical.

“Yeah.”

“Sounds about right.”

Andy laughed and then kissed Miranda again, biting gently on a lower lip plumper than it was before. She curled her fingers, and rubbed hard. The other woman gasped, and shivered, clinging onto Andy like her life depended on it.

“Bedroom?” Andy asked, because they would probably end up on the floor sooner or later with the way Miranda’s thighs were quivering.

“Study.”

“Okay.” Expertly leading the way, Andy paused at the doorway when they got there.

“What is it?” Miranda said, with almost annoyance.

“It’s been a while,” Andy said, chuckling, because she could. The last time she’d been in this room, she’d hadn’t been in a position where laughing with Miranda was possible. It was quite surreal.

“Experiencing traumatic flashbacks?”

“Flashbacks yes, but I wouldn’t call them traumatic,” Andy said, and stepped inside the tasteful home-office. There had been a family portrait with Stephen somewhere in the room, she remembered, but it was nowhere to be found now. She also had a vivid memory of Miranda being bra-less in a sweater once, and how she hadn’t been able to look Miranda in the eye for days afterwards without blushing.

“Flashbacks?” Miranda raised an eyebrow, but was nowhere near intimidating with the flush she was sporting on her cheeks.

“Pretty good ones. I had a really hot boss after all.”

“You did,” her hot ex-boss said, insufferably, sliding up close. “And she hates to be kept waiting, I’m sure you know that.”

Without needing to be told twice, Andy sprang into action, pushing the study door shut and yanked the shorter woman with her until they landed on the settee Andy had never seen in use. It was surprisingly comfortable. Miranda looked glorious, robe already sliding off strong, proud shoulders.

“Stay,” Andy said, with a hand on Miranda’s stomach, and slid onto the plush carpet.

“Andrea,” Miranda replied, clearly resenting the command.

Ignoring the note of impatience, Andy eased into a comfortable position and rested on her knees. While she normally liked to take her time, she knew that Miranda wouldn’t last beyond the first minute from the way her thighs was fidgeting.

“Let me show you how efficient I am,” Andy said, and yanked at silk panties until it slid off completely, taking credit and feeling accomplished for the ruined La Perla. With a swift motion, she pushed pale thighs upwards so that Miranda’s feet rested on the cushion. Andy throbbed between her legs at the sight of Miranda glistening and ready for her taking.

“Oh!” Miranda gasped, as Andy leaned down for a taste. “Please!”

“Okay,” Andy said, pushing two fingers inside and flicked the tip of her tongue against Miranda’s clit. “Like that?”

“Oh God, yes, yes.”

Taking the approval as a sign to continue, Andy curled her fingers and took the swollen bud between her lips. Miranda jerked and tightened once around her fingers, crying out softly. Sensing that the other woman was close, Andy sucked harder and increased the rhythm of her thrusts, before adding a third finger, revelling in the tightness and heat.

“Please,” Miranda panted, eyes squeezed shut.

There was something about that customarily quiet, deadly voice making such helpless, pleading sounds that made Andy feel like she could conquer the world. Allowing her free hand to roam, she traced the skin under the silk nightdress until she felt the soft curve of a breast and squeezed possessively.

 “Hard-harder, I need –”

Andy didn’t wait – she  _was_ efficient, after all. Pressing all three fingers upwards and rubbing firmly, Andy sucked hard, flicking her tongue over the sensitive bundle of nerves repeatedly until Miranda sobbed, tensed, and then –

“Oh!”

Lips parted in an erotic little ‘O’ and back arched, she clenched erratically around Andy’s fingers, soaking the cushion beneath and Andy’s chin at the same time.

“I’ve got you, baby,” Andy soothed, rubbing her free hand over a pale stomach as Miranda shivered in the aftershocks of her orgasm. “I’ve got you.”

She stayed that way until Miranda sunk into the plush cushion like a satisfied cat.

Slowly extracting her drenched fingers, Andy pressed a gentle kiss on the flawless inside of a firm thigh and wiped her chin unceremoniously with the sleeve of her shirt – her clothes were generally dispensable and that shirt in particular was something she got in a sale anyway.

“You’re amazing,” she said, pulling herself back up onto the cushion and curling around the warm body next to hers. “And yay, I did it again.”

Recovering slightly, Miranda opened her eyes, frowning at her in question.

“Made you squirt,” Andy said, watching in pleasure as the flush still present on alabaster skin deepened. It wasn’t often that she used such a colloquial term with Miranda, but it was hard to  _not_  directly refer to something so epic hot – so hot in fact, that it made recurring appearances in Andy’s fantasies on nights she was left to her own devices.

“Well,” Miranda said, trying for sternness but obviously still too self-conscious.

She would just have to deal, because Andy would never,  _ever_ , get over it.

“You’re the hottest thing ever,” Andy sang.

Miranda shook her head and brought a hand up to cup Andy’s cheek. “I hope you’re not finished?”

“I’m okay,” she said, feeling good enough with her handiwork to go without. “And I really do need to work – my parents dropping by sort of derailed my plans for the weekend. Deadline’s by eleven.”

“Next time then,” Miranda said, with certainty and promise.

“Mhmm.”

“I have to get quite a bit done as well.”

Andy only snuggled in closer, already drowsy from her comfortable place, as Miranda closed her eyes again. “Were you planning to stay up all night?”

“Not exactly,” Miranda murmured, lacking the conviction which would have otherwise made her words more believable.

“Liar.”

“I do not  _plan_ to deprive myself of sleep, Andrea. And I never plan for incompetence. It just happens.”

“Sure,” Andy said, glancing at her watch. “Um, do you mind if I used the kitchen and made some coffee?”

Miranda’s eyes snapped open, and she arched an eyebrow as if Andy had said something dumb.

“I probably need to stay up all night to finish my article,” Andy said, sheepishly.

“I thought as much. And no, I wouldn’t mind you making coffee in the kitchen,” Miranda said, frowning. Then, pursing her lips, she added: “You  _have_  been in my bedroom – I doubt access to the kitchen requires my explicit approval.”

“Okay,” Andy said, feeling twenty shades of stupid for asking because now, Miranda was offended and the comfortable silence they shared seconds ago was now a source of tension. “I didn’t mean that – I just, I don’t really want to impose.”

Miranda’s eyebrow climbed even higher at that. “You are not  _imposing_ , Andrea.”

Shit. What absolute shit. Did she have an inbuilt circuit in her brain that was hardwired to say all the wrong things to the  _one_  person people just did not say wrong things to? She took a deep breath, and held it, afraid that it would come out like a sigh if she let it out in one go and it would be another thing Miranda would take the wrong way.

“I know – I only meant,” Andy paused, squirming as Miranda stared at her. It had been a while since she’d felt like a trapped mouse around the other woman, and it was an extremely unpleasant reminder of the obvious imbalance in their positions. “Actually, I didn’t mean anything by it at all. I’ve never been to the kitchen so I didn’t think it would have been polite to, you know, just barge in.”

 “It is  _fine_ to use the kitchen,” Miranda said with a sharp air of finality, putting an end to the subject.

 “Okay,” Andy allowed, glad to move on.

“The coffee is on the top right shelf,” Miranda continued, as if nothing had transpired moments ago, and slipped out of Andy’s embrace lithely, padding across the room on bare feet.

“Where are you going?” Andy asked, suddenly anxious.

“We are to work, are we not? I left the Book upstairs,” Miranda said, back to looking all bossy, and disappeared.

The coffee  _was_ on the top right shelf but Andy was unprepared for the sheer variety sitting on said shelf. Those beans had undoubtedly travelled further distances than Andy ever had, just to make their way into Miranda’s kitchen. She picked out a jar of Balinese ground coffee, partially attracted by the promise of exoticism and the fancy packaging, and sighed in relief when the equally fancy coffee machine turned out to be surprisingly user-friendly.

By the time Miranda reappeared with The Book and her work laptop, looking fresher than anyone had the right to be at 2:30AM, Andy had two mugs of steaming hot coffee ready to serve.

“Hope I picked the right one,” she said, as the editor pulled herself up on a bar-stool.

“Anything would have been the right one or else I wouldn’t keep it in my pantry,” Miranda said, taking a graceful sip of the hot liquid.

Andy pulled herself up on the stool right beside her, dragging the laptop she’d booted up across the surface, only to realise that Miranda had placed a narrow, black velvet box on the space between them.

She frowned automatically.

“While I am flattered by your announcement earlier, here is a  _proper_  birthday present,” Miranda sniffed, and opened The Book casually, red marker already in hand.

Unable to believe what had just happened, Andy picked up her “proper birthday present” and snapped the lid open. Nestled on black velvet lining was a thin gold chain holding a gold tag in place. There was a fine engraving on the gold tag, and she angled it towards the light to see it clearer.

_M.P. – Fall ‘08_

Andy brushed her thumb across the tag instinctively. It was unusual that Miranda chose to mark the gift with her own initials, maybe even egoistical, but she found herself liking the idea that Miranda was effectively branding Andy as hers. It said a whole lot for a woman who was so restrained in many other regards.

“I – wow.”

“As usual, your eloquence astounds me,” Miranda commented, turning to Andy.

“You got this for me?” Andy couldn’t help the words, cliché as they might be, spilling out of her mouth.

“No, Andrea, I got it for my housekeeper for her excellent work on keeping my pantry well-stocked,” Miranda said, drily, making a show out of rolling her eyes.

“You’re the…”

“Sweetest thing ever?” the other woman finished, as if the whole conversation was boring her to death.

But Andy saw through it anyway.

“Thank you,” she said, eyes shining, and kissed Miranda on a soft cheek.

“You are welcome,” Miranda said, simply, watching as Andy placed the chain around her wrist and fixed the clasp with a smooth twist of fingers.

“It looks good,” Andy stated, unnecessarily. Of course, it did.

Miranda nodded in approval, and glanced away into the blackness of her coffee before shifting her attention to The Book once again to signify the “end” of the gift-giving session.

Although Miranda never actually said “Happy Birthday” and the gifting itself was executed in a flawless rendition of the art of non-gifting gifting… her bracelet was engraved, and that made Andy feel like a pretty damn special snowflake.

Everything suddenly felt  _very_ worth it, even if the editor occasionally had indecipherable moods that frustrated her to bits, even if it was a lot of walking on eggshells for the most part – she wanted Miranda to stay in her life for a long, long time to come.

“Are you going to at least  _try_ and meet your deadline?” came Miranda’s cuttingly casual voice after a few brief moments, though a small twitch suggested that she was beginning to feel uncomfortable under the scrutiny and Andy’s gawking.

“I will,” Andy said, buoyant, confident.

Within the hour, she finished typing the first draft of her article, the island-top ending up covered in her papers and notes. Miranda kept to her little circle, with occasional Post-Its escaping from the glossy pages under her study as she changed her mind and discarded notes she’d written at first. Andy nicked a stray bright yellow Post-It halfway through, hiding it within her notebook, simply because it had a rare, out of context and unattainable praise (Miranda  _had_ changed her mind) on it – “Good, but better in navy” – immortalised in that marker-red, angled script.

Occasionally, there were pings heard from Miranda’s laptop, punctuating the quiet stillness of the night. Obviously, people were actually replying to her countless emails, Nigel likely being one of them, and it made Andy think of her one-time work confidant, and how much she missed him. She made a mental note to email him someday.

“Can’t believe people still check their emails at this time of the night,” she said, after hearing what must have been the twentieth email arriving at Miranda’s inbox. “Or morning.”

“I am sure it is fear that spurs action,” Miranda murmured into her third cup of coffee. “Someone else’s mistake is root of my inordinate caffeine consumption tonight so they  _should_  be checking their emails.”

“Ooh, dragon lady,” Andy said, and deleted a whole paragraph that felt redundant on her third read. A few more checks and she would be ready to send it over to her editor. She stole a cashew nut from Miranda’s snack bowl, ignoring a formidable glare in the process.

“Naturally,” Miranda conceded, taking it as a compliment. She  _would_.

The sun rose half an hour later, glowing warmly through the endless windows. The dusty light suffused the air with a homeliness that was unusual for expensive townhouses which otherwise looked more like property showrooms than spaces real people lived in.

Miranda shifted beside her, arching her back and stretching the muscles in her neck with a grace clumsy old Andy Sachs would never, ever possess.

“Did you – um, finish with the revisions?” Andy asked, unready to have their time together end. This was probably the most time they’d spent together since – well, since ever. It felt good.

She looked down at her cheap but sturdy Casio, distracted instead by her shiny new gift that contrasted starkly against the worn leather strap. It made her want to say something else, like “I adore you,” but it refused to come, especially since an irrational portion of her brain worried about another “wrong thing”  that Miranda would inadvertently be upset about – just because someone up there enjoyed having a lot of fun with Andy in a cruel, cruel way.

“Mostly.” Miranda snapped her laptop shut and sent a half-amused glance over Andy’s makeshift workstation.

Andy nodded automatically, kicking herself for being a giant chicken and hiding behind safe topics such as work and well, more work.

She realised that the other woman was still watching her, waiting for a response and her heart began to pound familiarly. It was as though the filter of the morning sun had washed out potential sharp and caustic rebukes, leaving behind golden possibilities.

“Miranda,” she began, throwing out an invisible net to catch every shred of courage out there.

The editor tilted her head curiously, in reaction to Andy’s nervousness.

She licked her lips, and opened her mouth to continue but Miranda’s attention was already distracted by –

No.

“Hello,” the one with extra freckles said, in a way that made the single word sound like a demand, narrowing her eyes in an oh-so-familiar way.

Andy winced.

Shit.

Feeling a very real fear that she hadn’t felt in a while now, she tried to channel all her panic in a silent S.O.S, hoping that Miranda’s insane sixth sense would be able to pick it up, while said woman’s mini-clone was attempting to strike Andy dead with a commendable interpretation of her mother’s death glare.

“Bobbsey,” Miranda said, the tone of her voice clearly conveying chastisement. But that was all she said.

Goddamn, shit. And didn’t Miranda say that the girls were with their father this weekend?!

“Hi,” the same twin said, begrudgingly, as if the vocabulary switch was supposed to make a significant difference. Did they think that Andy was an assistant? Did they even remember the trouble they’d gotten Andy into a year ago?

Actually, she couldn’t be sure if Miranda herself remembered it.

At least the second twin attempted a smile, cradling their fluffy white kitten in both arms. She too, merely said: “Hi.”

“I’m Andy. “

“Cool,” Miss Freckles said, deceptively casual, probably summing Andy up before going in for the kill. She had a crafty look of someone who knew something nobody else knew. “I’m Caro. Are you here for breakfast?”

The twins always came first, no matter what. One word against Andy, and she’d likely end up ass first on the pavement outside. She wasn’t ready for Miranda to declare that they were over because her kids hated her.

“Um, I actually came over to do some work with your Mom,” Andy said, diving for the most innocuous explanation possible. She looked at Miranda for encouragement, but the woman’s poker face was undoubtedly on.

“Kay,” Caroline said, completely ignoring Andy’s presence and headed straight to the fridge for a glass of milk, probably already assuming Andy was just another one of their Mother's faceless errand-running, homework-doing assistants.

Something twisted in her belly.

Andy had imagined her first official introduction to twins to be something more formal, where she’d be on neutral ground once Miranda introduced her as  _someone_ , not just anyone – she didn’t think Miranda had introduced any of the men she’d gone out on dates with to the girls and Andy didn’t want to belong in the same group. It actually stung that Miranda didn’t seem like she was going to do such a thing, even if this meeting was premature.

Here she was, in the kitchen, with her notes all over the place and Christ, she hadn’t slept a wink the entire night and resembled something Randy had dragged in overnight.

“Wash your hands, Bobbseys,” Miranda instructed, from her perch on the stool, right after her children finished filling up Randy’s food bowl, like nothing was amiss.

Wordlessly, Andy began to shuffle her papers together, stacking them up and slipping them into her plastic binder. Whatever courage or resolve she’d felt earlier, had wavered and dissolved into dejection.

“I thought you would like to stay for breakfast,” Miranda said, quietly, just as Andy slipped the strap over her shoulder.

Not really. Not if Caroline and Cassidy would be under the impression that they were having breakfast with their Mother’s assistant.

“Um, I should be heading back. My parents would be calling anytime now, wondering where I disappeared to,” Andy said, forcing a chuckle. “I had a really good time though,” she added, lowering her voice so only Miranda heard, even if she could feel two sets of eyes boring into the side of her skull.

Miranda’s face was perfectly bland, even if her words were full of irritation. “Did you? Sometimes, I wonder.”

Wait,  _what?_

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means exactly what it means.”

“That’s not answering the question.”

“Bobbsey, that’s the wrong type of flour,” Miranda said, and clucked her tongue, avoiding Andy’s eyes as she watched her children. “Yes, that’s the one – seal the bag once you’re done, please. We do not live in a bakery.”

Oh, no. There was no way in hell Miranda could say something like that and go back to pretending that she hadn’t dropped a bomb. But … okay, even if she was annoyed to hell at the gall of Miranda’s comment, she knew enough to not make a scene in front of the girls.

“Jesus, I don’t even know what – okay, you know what? You’re not going to talk – that’s fine. We’ll talk later,” Andy said, calmly, hoping that Miranda’s inner twelve-year-old wouldn’t throw a fit. “I’m going to leave now.”

“Yes, do that. One of your most excellent skills, I’m sure,” Miranda murmured, and slipped off the stool to join the girls on the other side of the kitchen.

As if Andy was  _really_ an assistant, as if she wasn’t worth a second glance.

Reeling from the humiliation of being dismissed in such a manner, Andy clenched her fist around the strap of her bag, marched all the way to the foyer, grabbed her coat and made a valiant effort to  _not_ slam the front door behind her as she stepped out.

The cold hit her hard, made the anger coiling in her chest freeze, sending sharp shards straight to her heart.

She started walking, only remembering to put on her coat a hundred feet later and by then, had exhausted dozens of scenarios and potential explanations for Miranda’s behaviour.

Her phone rang and she let out a sigh, picking up right after. She hoped her parents hadn’t made plans for a day out because all she wanted now was to hide under her sheets for the rest of the day.

“I’m on the way home, Mom. Just done with work.”

 _“I’m sure you are,”_  Miranda’s voice said.

“Oh, it’s you,” Andy said, still smarting. “I had the impression that I was already dismissed.”

“ _That’s ridiculous._ ”

It sounded quiet on the other side, too quiet for the twins to be around. Maybe Miranda had retreated into her study.

“It’s not. Was I supposed to stand there like an idiot, waiting for you to explain what you meant? Because you sure as hell weren’t talking,” Andy snapped, attracting the attention of a young woman with a stroller. She quickened her stride as Andy glared back.

God. Miranda just had a knack for bringing out the worst in her, didn’t she?

And having fights over the phone was beginning to become a trend Andy hated – Miranda was so much better at keeping her voice unreadable and therefore, held the upper hand.

“ _Am I expected to neglect my children for you?_ ”

“What? That was not what I said or even expected. It’s just –” Andy pinched the bridge of her nose. “Do you have any idea how frustrating it is to try and decipher what you mean each time you say something? Or to figure out what may or may not tick you off? What the heck did that mean anyway – that ‘you wonder’? Are you trying to say that I don’t mean what I say?”

“ _Oh, I apologise for your frustrating experience, Andrea. I was not aware that I had been expected to coddle you. And yes, at times, I do wonder if you are merely peddling second-hand illusions,”_ Miranda said, each word coming off like a sharp snap.

“Everything I have done – every damn thing I’ve done and tolerated, watching everything I say around you – and  _I’m_ the one who needs coddling? “ Andy spat, grinding her teeth. This was rich, coming from Miranda Priestly, and it hurt like a motherfucking bitch. “And are you seriously accusing me of lying?”

“ _You tell my children that you came here to work, behave as if my home is a – well, hotel of sorts to you, and refuse to get attached to anything as if you are ready to take flight at any given moment –”_

“Take flight – Miranda, what? No!”

“ _And you have the nerve to be upset when I do not behave like the fool you expect me to be?”_

“That’s not true! That’s not – I’m not ready for things to be over! Don’t you get it? We’ll be done the moment your kids tell you they want me gone and it’ll kill me.”

“ _If I’d known that you’d spent the last ten weeks getting ready for our impending end –_ ”

“No! Shit, that’s not it. I would die happy right now, if I’d know for sure that this thing we have is real and not just in my head,” Andy said, rapidly losing the steam that had propelled her so far before. “But what the Priestly twins want, the Priestly twins get, right?” Her voice had dropped to a whisper, as if saying it out loud would make it all the more true.

Miranda drew in a sharp breath, but didn’t respond, and the silence dragged on for so long that Andy could hear the thud of her heartbeat in her own ears. They were already at engraved jewellery, for fuck’s sake. How had they gone from the high of last night to where they were right now in just a few hours?

“Miranda?”

“ _I suppose it is clear how little faith you have in me, and in this.”_

“That’s not –”

“ _Yes, it is,”_ Miranda said, even if her voice faltered.

“Please –” Andy began, only to have a muted tone interrupt her.  _Shit_.

She pulled the phone away from her ear to stare at the darkened screen, stunned that Miranda had hung up on her so abruptly for the first time since their first argument over the phone so many weeks ago, before they’d even –

The bracelet on her wrist glittered brilliantly in the sunlight and Andy stared at it until it became a hazy scattering of light, mocking the tears on her cheeks.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I was travelling for a few weeks, and when I returned, work was legitimately _insane_ \- I only ever went home to sleep. But I've managed to find some time to get this out. Hope it makes up for the long wait.
> 
> No beta, apologies for any errors. Enjoy!

Her parents were already up when Andy stepped through the door, and with one look, her mother summed it all with a tender, if not exasperated: “Oh, honey.”

Indeed.

“Hey guys,” Andy said, forcing all traces of gloom from her voice with a false cheerfulness.

“I hope you’re not working yourself to death,” her mother continued, gesturing at the pancakes on the makeshift serving plate with her fork. “Eat.”

“Honestly, it doesn’t seem to be getting any better from that last place you were at,” her father said, earnestly, over the sound of the running water. “And you’re out of dishwasher.”

She hoped that they would attribute her zombie-eyes to the all-nighter she’d pulled to meet her deadline. It was surprising, since her mother seemed to always notice most things, but Andy silently gave thanks for their ignorance, even managing a grateful smile as she picked up the plate.

The bubble of pain caught in her ribcage, threatening to rise and spill over again, so she kept her gaze on the food as her eyes grew watery.

“It  _is_ better. Things aren’t ideal, but at least I’m writing. I’ll get the dishwasher first thing tomorrow.”

“So long as you know what you’re doing, honey. If you need anything…”

“I know, Mom. Thank you.”

“You should take a nap after this. Your father and I are taking you out for lunch later, and we’ll have a good day out, all three of us.”

The stinging in Andy’s eyes got worse with guilt, knowing that her parents were trying so hard to make her birthday special and yet, she couldn’t feel anything less than terrible.

“Sure, Mom,” she said, hoping that it didn’t come out as despondent as she felt. If she got through the weekend without her parents suspecting anything amiss, she should probably consider a submission for next year’s Oscar’s.

Washing down the last of her pancakes with a glass of milk, she dragged her feet towards her bedroom, accepting a kiss from her father on the way. He smelt like her peach-scented shower cream. If all had gone well on Friday, it would have been Miranda that was lounging around her cheap studio, smelling like peaches.

Andy sighed, long and bone-weary as she sat down on her bed.  She kicked off her shoes and crawled under the sheets, too exhausted to even remove her clothes.

When she woke up, her throat was dry and the pillow-sheet beneath her cheek was damp. She heard her parents talking outside, and more voices from the TV. God, she wasn’t in the mood to socialise with anybody at all. But she’d said yes to lunch, and didn’t have the heart to reject her parents’ efforts. There were a few birthday texts, mostly from old friends back home, Lily and Doug (well, she knew where Nate stood now, she supposed) and spent a few minutes in bed responding to them before dragging herself up.

She shuffled outside, eyelids still heavy with sleep.

“Hey guys,” she said, only to realise that her parents were already eating from a large pizza box, watching Gary Cooper’s attempts in flirting with Barbara Stanwyck. “Um, what happened to lunch?”

“You looked so exhausted, Andy, we thought it best to let you sleep,” her father said, bending over to grab another slice. “I hope you’re getting paid enough. Did you rest well?” he asked, completely oblivious to the fact that Andy’s state of being had nothing to do with work at all.

She didn’t, still feeling the remnants of the emotional outburst in the morning, and her head was pounding.

“Yeah, I did. Thanks, Dad.”

“It’s a bit too late for lunch now, don’t you think?” Her mother sipped from the Coke labelled paper cup. “So we’re taking you out for dinner tonight, instead. Unless you’ve got another deadline –”

Andy’s brain conjured up a warm fuzzy image of Miranda eating pizza and drinking  _Coke._

Fucking hell.

“No, dinner is fine,” she said immediately, making her decision before the urge to lie and stay in bed could overwhelm her. “Let’s have dinner.”

Her parents grinned, as if she’d come home with all A’s on her report card, full of pride. She really didn’t want to imagine their reaction to Miranda (if they ever got to that). Her mother was already scooting over to make space for her and all Andy wanted to do was cry herself hoarse.

“Um, I’m gonna take a shower.”

“Kay, sweetheart,” her mother said, attention already distracted by good old Coop.

Despite how she felt, Andy didn’t end up crying herself hoarse in the shower. Instead, she focused on the gold chain around her wrist, new enough that she could still feel the metal tickling her skin with every movement. It made her think of Miranda, think of the warmth of the other woman’s presence beside her as they stayed up together the entire night and the cold, hard words they’d exchanged over the phone later on.

How dare, how  _dare_ Miranda accuse her of lying about her intentions?

She’d gone all the way to Manhattan to see the bloody woman last night, hadn’t she? She had been nothing but accommodating, catering to the editor’s every mood-swing, running over to the townhouse without regard for the inconvenience she had to go through every single time Miranda wanted her there … she had shown Miranda in every way she knew how, that she cared, that she  _wanted_  whatever it was that they had.

It wasn’t her fault that Caroline and Cassidy decided to grace them with their presence – Miranda  _had_ said that they would be with their father’s – and treat Andy as if she wasn’t worth a second glance.

And the only reason Andy had ever come close to treating the townhouse like a “hotel” was to prevent the exact same thing that had happened this morning to begin with.

She shouldn’t have to feel so shitty – Miranda had been unreasonable, had ruined an otherwise salvageable morning, despite the twins. And hanging up in the middle of a call? Seriously? Andy had thought that they were way past such immaturity, considering their first argument in the history of their acquaintance had been caused by Miranda’s lacking phone etiquette.

Andy wasn’t going to go back crawling this time, especially not when it wasn’t her damn fault.

It wasn’t.

She didn’t cry herself hoarse, but when she licked her lips, her tongue tasted salt.

They went for dinner at a restaurant near Broadway, with swanky music and minimalist chairs because her parents had found a great review online – the sort of restaurant that perhaps, Miranda herself would visit. And of course, Andy realised, that Miranda  _had_ visited on more than one occasion, because she’d been the one to make the arrangements then – “that place with the smoked salmon Donatella likes”.

The maître d' had smiled graciously, before asking Andy to send his regards to “Miranda” (said as if they’d been best friends forever).

Andy had volleyed between being stunned that someone she had never met in real life remembered her just by her name, and resentment that she’d likely only secured the last minute reservation on a Saturday night because of her prior association with the editor.

And not because she was nice, or anything.

Typical.

Stubbornly refusing to allow Miranda to ruin her dinner – because it was pathetic that the older woman had that kind of power over her without even being there – Andy clenched her teeth, smiled the biggest smile she had and allowed herself be led to the table.

Sometime in between, Andy received a text message, instinctively knowing that it was from Miranda. It made her heart flutter, until she remembered that she was supposed to be angry.

_Where are you?_

_-M_

And she was, at least after reading the damn text and when she remembered the things Miranda had said to her this morning.

If Miranda thought she could just summon her, as if she was one of her  _Runway_  lackeys, she could just shove it. Andy silenced her phone, not even bothering with the vibrate option, and dropped it into her purse for good measure. For now, she would have a nice time with her parents, just so she could remember her twenty-fifth birthday as something resembling decent.

It had been a while since she’d indulged in fancy dining – in actual fact, the only times she’d ever had meals like these were at  _Runway_ events, or when she accompanied Miranda to dinners and shows. It was another cold reminder of the differences in their social standing, another reminder of  _Miranda_  in general, despite Andy’s mental resolution to ignore  _her_.

So she called a waiter and ordered a bottle of champagne.

By the time their cab dropped them back at Andy’s place, she was already feeling warmer from all the champagne and food she’d had. Better even, all things considered.

She turned on the TV for some noise, flipped the channels until she found one with the news and curled up on the couch as her mother began to clean up the empty pizza boxes and paper cups they’d left on the table earlier.

“Rick, could you take the trash out please?” Her mother had somehow managed to sound exasperated and affectionate all at once.

Her father grunted, but did what he was told.

It was good to have her parents around for once, even if they were only puttering about and doing chores. Andy didn’t think Miranda did her own chores, and then didn’t think she should keep on thinking about what Miranda did or didn’t do.

Clearly, Miranda didn’t do apologies either.

So fuck that.

“Honey, not that this isn’t a nice place and all… but have you ever given thought to moving?” her mother said, as she plopped down beside Andy gracelessly.

Still buzzed, Andy let her head fall on the older woman’s shoulder. “S’not the best neighbourhood around, I know. It’s cheap. But yeah, I have.”

“It’s an all right, neighbourhood,” her mother consoled. “There were a few Chevvies and Hondas on the side-walk. Well, a bit old, but -”

“Mom.”

“What? They’re sturdy, middle-class cars. Respectable.”

“You sound just like Dad,” Andy rolled her eyes and stifled a yawn.

“And I thought I saw a Merc too, so I want you to know that I’m not knocking you down. It’s just that  _you_  don’t drive, and I don’t know what kind of stories your editor has you write but it can’t be safe for you to be walking about at three in the morning.”

“I try to take cabs mostly if it’s too late,” Andy said, turning so that she was snuggled closer. “I appreciate your concern, but don’t worry, Mom. I'm okay.”

“Tell your daughter that it’s too dangerous to be out and about at three in the morning, Rick.”

“Listen to your mother,” her father said, as he unzipped his jumper by the door. “And it’s starting to get cold around here.”

“It’s warm enough,” Andy said, and fell asleep.

Her parents left the next morning, after promises of phone-calls and emails for when she got busy. They’d left her a cheque for two thousand dollars – her birthday present, they insisted, though Andy was certain that it was a hint for her to move. Not that two thousand dollars could get her anywhere much better in New York City, truth be told, so she’d probably just add it to her meagre savings.

Once the yellow cab disappeared down the street, Andy felt the cold hit her straight to the bones. The warm buzz of the night before had gone and in its place was a reminder that she didn’t have Miranda’s to go to anymore.

By noon, Andy had already ventured across town, seeking out her favourite Barnes and Noble to make the most out of her actual day off. She bought the latest Khaled Hosseini novel after browsing forever, sat down in the in-store Starbucks and made it through four chapters before being distracted.

The quiet music coming from the speakers right above her head tugged at her attention, forcing her to listen, pushing vivid memories from days before to the forefront of her mind – of Miranda’s scent, the sharp angles of a chiselled profile in the dim glow of a bedside lamp.

It made her sad, but half a minute later, she was making her way across the crowded café and heading straight to the information counter.

The Debussy albums with their Impressionist covers stood in perfectly arranged rows as Andy approached. She picked one up, turning it over to read the track listings and realised that she had no idea which one was playing. The boy behind the counter smiled at her expectantly, eyes shining like the ‘Trainee’ badge he was wearing.

“Excuse me, do you happen to know which one here is currently playing?” she asked, indicating the back cover of the CD.

“Oh, that’s not Debussy, ma’am.”

Andy frowned. “It’s not?”

“No, it’s Erik Satie, ma’am. You’d be able to find a few CDs at music section.”

“Oh, right. Okay. Um, do you happen to know which track is playing now?”

The boy cocked his head. “It’s one of the Gymnopédies. I think it’s the first, ma’am.”

“Ah, okay, cool. Thanks,” Andy said, suddenly feeling as if she’d been searching for fucking Erik Satie her entire life.

There was only one CD on the classical music shelf that had the Gymnopédies and it wasn’t even dedicated to the composer – it was a collection of classical piano music, but Andy bought it anyway.

Had she always thought that it was Debussy playing? It was a strange, disconcerting realisation that her assumption had been wrong all along. What if she wound up never seeing Miranda again for the rest of her life – would Andy be remembering the  _wrong_ music title, destined to search hopelessly through the troves of YouTube and having only a mental memory of how ‘Miranda’s theme’ sounded like?

Oh, God.

She was nuts.

The subway ride felt longer than usual, and it started drizzling lightly just as she stepped out of the station. She made it back to her apartment building by early evening, a little damp, still colder than she’d felt this morning. Without bothering to remove her coat or turn on the lights, she peeled the plastic wrapping off the little package, pulled the disc from its holder and pushed it into the old stereo she and Nate had salvaged from a flea market so long ago. Skipping tracks until she heard the familiar first few bars, Andy felt a rush of relief flood through her being.

It was the right one.

She let out a shaky breath as she leaned against the back of her beaten up couch, closing her eyes.

Thank God, thank –

“Andrea.”

 _Thank you, God_.

“You left the door open.”

“Yeah.”

“I saw you go up. I told you not to run in the rain.”

Andy chuckled, refusing to open her eyes, just in case her mind was playing tricks on her. Maybe she’d caught a cold in the rain, and was running a fever.

“You once called me a stalker,” Andy said.

“I did.”

“Are you stalking me now?”

“Yes.”

A warm hand cupped her cheek.

“I’m so glad you’re here," Andy whispered.

“I came here last night but you had not been available.”

“Oh.”

Andy’s heart soared. Miranda hadn’t been summoning her. She had come to look for Andy, just like she had so many weeks ago, the first time Andy had realised that she’d wanted, no,  _needed_  Miranda in her life.

“So I simply had to return,” Miranda said, and brushed Andy’s cheek with her thumb.

“Have you been waiting for long?” Andy said, finally opening her eyes to meet stormy, blue ones.

“Only since noon."

“Oh. I went to the bookstore. And then I heard your song. I mean, it’s your song to me, and it wasn’t even Debussy. But I found it and I brought it home. I just needed to hear – I was afraid that I’d never –”

“Andrea.”

“I –” Andy said, attempting to continue, but couldn’t find the words to finish her sentence. She wasn’t sure if she had even been making any sense.

Miranda spoke, as if Andy hadn’t said a single word.

“It had occurred to me that you’d spent a considerable amount of time believing that I didn’t care enough. Perhaps you had good reason to feel that way, considering my less than stellar track record,” Miranda quirked her lips, but there was still a trace of hurt in her gaze that Andy’s mistrust had clearly left behind. “I thought I had demonstrated doubtlessly, how I felt about you, but evidently, it had not been sufficient.”

Andy swallowed.

Miranda had come to her, not once, but twice, had waited hours for her, despite the twins. How could she have been so incredibly  _stupid_ to think that Miranda would give everything up in an instant?

“I’m sorry.”

“As am I.”

“I meant everything I’ve said to you, though. I didn’t lie."

“I know,” Miranda looked away, and dropped her hand. “I shouldn’t – have driven you away needlessly.”

“You haven’t. You still have me,” Andy said, shaking her head. And then, without hesitation, she added: “I love you,” as if she had been saying the same words every single day of her life. “I love you,” Andy repeated, testing the weight of the words on her tongue, marvelling at how easily they came to life, light and joyful.

“Andrea,” Miranda said, in response, which sounded remarkably like “I love you, too,” and closed what distance that was left between them.

Andy sobbed as Miranda’s lips parted for her, warm and inviting, fingers moving on their own accord to thread in beautifully coiffed hair. Her heart felt like it had expanded a hundred times over, full and content when Miranda’s head came to rest on her shoulder.

“I was terrified that I’d never see you again,” Andy whispered.

“That wouldn’t have been possible,” Miranda murmured into her neck.

“Why not?”

“I would have returned every day until I found you,” Miranda said, simply.

“That sounds easy.”

Andy wanted to ask more. Had Miranda felt as shitty as Andy had felt in the past twenty-four hours? Why didn’t she call if she’d been at the apartment last night? But she knew Miranda would only volunteer information in her own time, would possibly never admit to certain things and Andy felt surprisingly okay about it.

Miranda shifted, kissed her earlobe and then straightened.

“It is, if one has enough conviction to follow through. And I realise, Andrea, that when it comes to you, I always do.”

Jesus. Miranda  _would_ be the sort to make sweeping romantic statements like an Austen hero.

“I believe you. I mean, you’re  _here_ , in my crappy place, and you haven’t cracked a single comment about it,” Andy said, lightly. She’d swoon once she could tell that Miranda wasn’t being sarcastic.

“It could have been worse,” Miranda allowed, a small smile playing on her lips. “I am only interested in its occupant for now.”

“You dress too well for this part of town,” Andy said, absently, untying the belt of Miranda’s trench-coat, craving the closeness of being with the other woman.

“The point is to be undressed.”

“I’m sure that’s the entire point,” Andy nodded, and threw the discarded garment over the back of her couch before removing her own coat. “I have a bed,” she said, pulling Miranda along.

“Ah, charming.”

“How else could I have gotten the great Miranda Priestly to fall in love with me?”

“How else, indeed,” Miranda said, almost sounding like she was baffled by the fact.

Andy laughed, and tugged at Miranda’s hand, flipping on the light switch with her other. “Let me show you. See? Sheets are clean, I promise.”

“You are ridiculous.”

“Yeah,” Andy said, and let Miranda crawl over her shamelessly, wool scratching her exposed arms. She reached up under the knitted sweater, ran her hands across the smooth flesh of Miranda’s torso. “Take this off.”

Miranda complied, eyes gleaming, until she was sitting astride Andy’s hips, topless.

“That’s nice,” Andy said, before Miranda leaned down to capture her lips. The heat between Miranda’s legs radiated against Andy’s pelvis, tantalising with every gentle contact. She reached down to undo the button of Miranda’s pants and slip her hand underneath the lacy material of her panties. “You’re already so ready.”

“And you’re overdressed.”

“So are you,” Andy teased, pressing a finger into wet folds.

Rolling her eyes, Miranda slid off her perch and shimmied out of her pants in a cute little wriggle.

“It’s amazing how you can do that and still not look awkward in any way,” Andy pointed out, as she struggled to remove her jeans.

“Awkwardness is a state of mind,” Miranda declared.

“Try telling my body that,” Andy retorted, pulling her T-shirt over her head.

“Mm,” Miranda said, and went straight for Andy’s bra, unhooking it effortlessly with one hand. Dropping the item off the side of the bed, Miranda slid down between Andy’s thighs, and sat on her knees. “We don’t need these either,” she said, and busied herself with removing Andy’s panties, leaving it in the heap of clothes on the floor.

Andy immediately parted her thighs when Miranda shifted closer. She felt a teasing touch, right at her clit, and throbbed at the anticipation coursing through her veins. Miranda looked up at her, smirked, and then went straight to work, talented tongue stroking along slick folds.

“You’re not going to go slow, are you?” Andy groaned, automatically reaching down to grab a fistful of hair, entranced by the snowy head bobbing between her legs.

“Why should I?” Miranda said, lips glistening from Andy’s arousal.

“Shit.” Andy was so turned on, it was amazing how Miranda hadn’t drowned. “You’re so good. So hot.”

“I know,” Miranda murmured, the timbre of her voice vibrating against Andy’s pussy.

“Can’t last,” Andy gasped, the moment the other woman increased the pressure of her tongue.

Miranda ignored her, using both palms to push Andy’s thighs so far apart that her ass was barely grazing the sheets beneath her. Her muscles stretched and burned, but the heat concentrated in her groin distracted her from it.

“Fuck, Miranda!”

“Later, darling,” Miranda said, took Andy’s whole clit between her lips.

“Oh, God,” Andy whined, as the older woman’s wet, hot mouth manipulated her like a pro, as if Andy was a fucking flute. She could feel her stomach clenching, the jerking of her knees each time Miranda sucked, until she was hovering at the edge. “Miranda – shit, I’m gonna come – ”

Without easing up, Miranda rubbed Andy’s quivering flesh with her fingers, and then plunged three in roughly, shoving Andy right off the edge.

“Fuck – yes!”

Andy moaned, clamping down hard around Miranda’s fingers, feeling the warmth of her come spreading between her legs.

And then Miranda was straddling her, kissing her stomach, chest and neck before coming up to kiss her on the lips.

“I need you,” Miranda breathed, whimpering when Andy’s hand cupped a breast, teasing a nipple until it stiffened beautifully.

Andy could feel hot moistness against her stomach and knew just how ready Miranda already was. Pushing a hand down between them, she faced her palm upwards and pressed her fingers against Miranda’s clit, stroking until she felt Miranda’s hips moving to match her pace.

“Inside. I want you inside.”

Obliging, Andy curled two fingers upwards and allowed Miranda to sink down, straddling her hand.

“Oh,” Miranda sighed, and began a slow rhythm, gasping whenever her clit pressed against Andy’s open palm.

Andy couldn’t stop watching – holy shit, the view was amazing from down here – the way Miranda’s breasts stood at attention, back arched, chest flushed with arousal. She tried to angle her hand the way the other woman liked it, using her other free hand to stroke the expanse of pale skin above her.

“Like this?” Andy asked, pressing her palm upwards so it was constantly rubbing against the swollen bud.

“Ye – yes. Almost, almost…”

Adding a third finger, Andy rested on an elbow, so she could have better control in meeting Miranda’s erratic thrusts. “Are you close?”

“Yes,” Miranda hissed.

Feeling the tell-tale swell under her fingers, Andy stiffened her fingers and rubbed, grinding her palm hard against Miranda’s clit.

A warm gush of fluid flooded Andy’s stomach, coating her hand as Miranda fell forward with a gasp, trembling against Andy as she rode her orgasm out.

“You’re okay,” Andy whispered, and kissed a milky shoulder. “You’re okay.”

“God,” Miranda said, after a while, a blunt syllable punctuating the soft piano music floating around the room.

Andy hadn’t even noticed that the music was still playing.

“I’m not sure how he feels about being mentioned so often whenever we do this,” Andy laughed.

Miranda chuckled along, and slid off, pressing herself to Andy’s side affectionately. “He should be glad. He’s going out of style.”

Andy smiled. They should probably shower – or clean up, at least, but she wanted to enjoy the peace for a little while longer. They were okay and they would be okay for a while. And even with the twins...

Now that it had popped into Andy’s head, she couldn’t ignore the niggling worry of how the girls would take her presence in their mother’s life. “What about Caroline and Cassidy?"

"Their father picked them up yesterday morning. I believe I've mentioned that it's his weekend with them," Miranda said. "Jonathan typically picks them up on Saturday mornings, or Friday after school if they don't have additional classes," she continued, then frowned when Andy shook her head.

"I meant, do you think, you know, that they will be okay with this? With us?”

Miranda shifted, and was so still for so long that Andy thought she had fallen asleep.

“My girls are aware of  _this_ ,” she finally said.

“Huh?”

“They notice things,” Miranda said, gazing at Andy unwaveringly. “I don’t – well, if you must know, I do not keep in touch with many friends. At least, not with as much frequency as I did with you in the past few weeks before – ah, recent developments.”

“When we were friends? Sorta?” Andy blinked, trying to process the information.

Miranda pressed her lips together, as if thinking of a bad memory she would rather forget. “Yes. And after our initial disagreement, I wasn’t in the best of moods.”

“You mean, um,” Andy hedged, trying to remember which disagreement Miranda was referring to.

“The phone-call,” Miranda prompted, clearly reading Andy’s confusion.

“Oh, right. I’m sorry about that.” To be fair, Andy wasn’t sorry about the actual facts of argument and or about the outcome either, but she  _was_ sorry that it had upset Miranda to an extent that her children noticed.

“No, it’s not that. I was in a terrible mood and Cassidy came up to me and offered to, and I quote – ‘beat him up’. It was one of the most endearing things she had ever said to me. That said, I do not condone my children engaging in physical violence."

Andy snickered. “I like her.”

“I learnt that evening, that they had assumed that I had been seeing someone romantically, although we were merely friends then,” Miranda said, amused. “They were only waiting for me to finally bring him home for dinner.”

“Smart girls,” Andy said. “So… what if he’s a she?”

“They go to a prestigious school which prides itself on progressive education. I hate to think that all that money had gone to waste,” Miranda said, completely  _not_ answering Andy’s question.

“Miranda…”

“I understand your concern. But I’m rather sure that it wouldn’t be an issue. They're only being protective of me, as children normally are. Once they are convinced that you are harmless – ” Andy rolled her eyes. “I don’t doubt that they will take a liking to you. After all, what’s not to like?”

“Still.” Andy worried her lip. “They – um, they didn’t like me so much yesterday morning.”

“Because you weren’t telling the truth,” Miranda said, sharply, indicating that she wasn't as blasé as she appeared to be. Although Miranda hadn’t removed herself from her side, Andy could feel the change in mood in the older woman, rippling across the air. “They could tell that you were lying.”

“I was scared. I know, you’re going to think I’m an idiot, but I was afraid that if they didn’t approve of me, you’d just throw me out,” Andy admitted, wincing when Miranda’s eyes darkened in hurt. “I know now, that it was really dumb. But you just let me fend for myself with them, I panicked.”

“You did,” Miranda said, neutrally. "Although, I may have miscalculated."

“I wanted nothing more than to be with you in the mornings, but I kept on waiting for – I don’t know. Maybe dinner with the girls, or something. Anything that told me that I mattered, that you’d fight for me even if the girls didn’t like me but … oh God.”

Andy propped herself up on an elbow. Just like that, she saw everything she had been blind to before, Miranda gazing at her as if she meant the world, as if she  _was_ the world.

“You were waiting for  _me_ ,” Andy said, shocked.

“I was.”

“Oh my God.”

“Experiencing the enlightenment now, are we?" Miranda quipped.

“Don’t be a smartass,” Andy said, and kissed Miranda fiercely. “You don’t ever have to wait for me. I’m yours. Yesterday, today, tomorrow. I’m yours.”

“Very good,” Miranda said, and kissed her back.

Andy woke up at three the next morning, stomach growling with a vengeance, to find Miranda gone from her side. Her heart started racing, but calmed down when she detected the smell of coffee brewing. Wandering outside, she found Miranda leaning against the kitchen counter in her sweater, casually sipping from a Snoopy mug. Her hair was slightly damp and - Andy grinned appreciatively - she wasn't wearing any pants.

“Hey."

“You need groceries," Miranda commented.

“I’m starving too. We shouldn’t have skipped dinner.” Andy grabbed another mug and poured herself a healthy amount of coffee. “I’ve got some eggs, I think.”

“That sounds acceptable,” Miranda consented, and Andy wondered how much effort it was taking Miranda to  _not_ comment on the pitiful state of her apartment.

That the editor was making  _any_  effort at all was something that made Andy warm and mushy.

She practically floated around the kitchen, preparing two plates – mismatched, but what the hell – for the scrambled eggs that she was making. When she heard her stereo, she looked up and found Miranda watching her contemplatively from across the room.

“Um, seven. You can skip to seven. It’s the one you always play,” Andy said, sheepishly and turned off the gas. “Hope they’re good.” She felt fairly proud of her work. The eggs looked fluffy enough, almost like those Nate used to make, and he actually cooked for a living.

“Andrea.”

“Remember what I said about patience?” Andy teased, trying not to make a mess as she divided the eggs in the pan. “Good things come to those who wait.”

“I love you.”

Pausing at the brief, unexpected words, Andy looked up and caught Miranda’s gaze.

“I know,” Andy said, enjoying the sight of the smile that was only hers to see. She had known since Miranda walked through her door last night, perhaps ever since she’d clasped the bracelet around her wrist, each time Miranda said " _Andrea_ " and made Andy's knees go weak - maybe it had never been just a figment of her imagination.

Once she set the plates on the little table, and brought over a jug of water, Miranda wandered over, attracted by the promise of sustenance. Andy watched the smooth muscles of her thighs flex as she padded across the floor, the hem of her oversized sweater swaying, promising to reveal more as she approached.

“It looks good,” Miranda decreed, surveying the humble offerings on the table.

Andy nodded, grinning as the other woman took her seat.

Despite the frost on her window, Miranda smelt like peaches on a summer morning.

 

_fin_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Erik Satie's Gymnopédie No. 1_ ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WcfxFxWI9R8)


End file.
